Bitches

This morning I woke up to what I thought could very well be the rapture. It turned out to be a power drill, circular saw, and belt sander working in harmony. So I grabbed my liter and a half of Sinas (orange drank with alot more carbination, less sugar, less orange), and started typing.

I've been having the weirdest fucking dreams lately. The night before last I dreamt I stole Hideo Kojima's DS (or was it Shingeru Miyamoto's PSP...) because it had tons of cool shit on it. I, of course, immediatly felt bad and pretended to be a PR director calling the other (one gave to the other as a goodwill present from the respective co.) to get it replaced. I feared for a quite literal console war. However, ol' Kojima has been thoroughly enamored with Nintendo recently, as is quickly becoming BFF with Miyamoto.
*Disclaimer: If you don't know who these men are, ask Chase or Joel, then you can care even less when they explain*
The one I had this morning was strange as well. I dreamt I helped start this basketball, ethnic, streetballin', church. There didn't seem to be much church, but lots of streetball. Anyway, people could come up and challenge you for a position on the "squad". I had a challenge that lasted for hours, which ended with an elbow to the stomach and me shiting myself. It literally got six times weirder than that...but I'm not getting into it.

Bottom line is I rarely dream at night, and now I have a fucking insane one everynight...

On a different note, I think Jagermeister is a drink made for the evil...

My good friend Craig (from Houston), or should I say bad friend, left me an undiscernable amount of Jagermeister. He got really sick from it so he decided that buying me some was the way to improve our bond. He was right. Last night my parents decided it would be "cute" to take me out to the Dutch countryside to eat dinner with my dad's coworkers (engineers), their wives (spoiled bitches), and their daughters (...spoiled bitches). More on this later; somewhere in there I decided Jager would take the edge off me. I took two hefty gulps (do it big or not at all) before walking out the door. Now my tolerance for alchohol isn't what it was in the winter, but I'm no pussy. I felt odd... After I got on the tram, I saw shit outside that I knew wasn't there...and I also seemed to have a new set of gravitational rules set just for me. I was not drunk, I was, what I have now discovered is...a state of Jager. Which brought me to this conclusion, two types of people can drink this shit: topless, drunken, bitches at Mardi Gras and evil people with dark souls. Now I'm not pure, I wouldn't even say I'm a good person. One could go as far as to say I'm a bad man...but I dont think Im evil, atleast not that evil. I don't kick puppies...that's usually how you gauge if someone is evil...puppy kicking.

I like puppies.

So back to the backyard blast that was an engineer's dinner party. We get on the train (my parents don't have a car, and being a product of the american lifestyle I can say honestly, they dont need one) ,and headed towards Den Haag (the Hague, but Im Dutch, bitches). We get off in a smaller city, where one of the wives pickes us up in her 30-40k $ Acura (it was bigger than any two cars in the lots put together) and drives us to her house. She pops the trunk, and much to my delight, I find beer. With the trip I call Jager well worn off, it was a welcome gift. We marched around the house, saying our hellos and meeting niggas. I think I said four phrases the whole time I was in the backyard: "Like an upside-down wedding cake," "that's a Class Bravo airspace," "Corperate Aviation," "Bah, that's Louisiana for you."

The daughters came out, attractive enough, but nothing overly special. One of them looked like she wanted to kick a baby, had the meanist look in that bitch's eyes. The other was more friendly. I, like the awkward social creature that I am, stared forward, made sure not to drink more beer than anyone else, and didnt speak. Occasionally, I would catch the 21 year old looking at me (four times I think I counted), and she would look away.

Needless to say, after eating all that cheese and potato salad with eggs in it, along with four beers, I was feeling a tad gassy and had to piss pretty awful. Someone recomended a walk on the beach. I thought, sure, I can make it, it'll be brief.

Little did I expect an eight mile death march up sand mountains and through the tide. I felt like an American soldier captured on the pacific front. The sand dunes here are easily taller than a moderately sized hill. They would classify as mountains back home. They are made of sand! You ever walked up a sand mountain...it sucks. Now imagine having to take the biggest piss of your life.

I eventually made to the end of this Dutch trail of tears. One of the mothers decided it would be nice to tell me how great her daughter (the baby kicker) had it here. I'll just give you some of the high points with my thoughts in ( ): "Oh, *what's her name* has it so great here, and she has so much fun. They go out on nights and run around on the beach (naked), have bonfires and such (read: sex). Also, the drinking age is 16 here (good habits start early) so she has that. She doesnt seem to appriciate it, but she has tons of fun."

Let me tell you how much highschool was. I worked. I played video games. And for fun, me and my friends slept on watertowers and...ate at taco bell.

I took a monster leak on the train...

Hope to be able to type in Turkey, but no promises.